Chapter 15
CHAPTER 15
ARTEM
I stood with my brothers, staring down at the piece of shit traitor who was working for Solovyov. He had been working for my family in Russia for years before he moved to the U.S. to work under Gregor. I didn't even know when he turned on us.
I sucked down the rancid air and kept my hands tight at my sides, trying to control the urge to lash out with a yell and a hail of fists.
It wasn't the traitor's constant lies, or even the way his blood was staining my new white shirt that pissed me off.
It was Kostya's grating laugh.
I loved my brothers, as they loved me. We were loyal to each other and had a bond that would never be broken. That bond also meant they were the only men who could see through my bullshit and knew how to get on my last goddamn nerve.
"Kristoff," Kostya said, squatting down to be at eye level with the man. "All you have to do is tell us what we want to know. Then all of this will stop."
The man wheezed and Kostya stood back up before slamming his fist into the man's face again. Blood poured from his nose and the newest cut on his lip like a fountain.
"Come on man, these shoes are new," he said, taking a step back. "If I would have known you were such a bleeder, I would have dressed more appropriately."
"What is the appropriate ensemble to wear to an interrogation?" Pavel asked.
"Well, that would depend," Kostya said, keeping his tone light. "For the ones who know how to clot, black on black is good for hiding the occasional stain, but for a man like this who gushes blood at the slightest tap...perhaps a stylish rain slicker and galoshes? Something fitted, sophisticated, and easy to clean."
Pavel pursed his lips, considering it, and nodded, before he turned and punched Kristoff in the mouth. Kristoff leaned over and spit a molar onto the concrete in a glob of blood and spit.
"And for the guest of honor?" Pavel asked. "Surely they have a different dress code. This entire event is dedicated to them."
"Well, that depends...for most, something that you don't care about, that you can just simply burn after."
"What about something constricting that will help slow the blood loss?" Pavel asked. "Or maybe a dark maroon color to match the blood. Make it look less obvious?"
"If that was the goal, they should wear brown pants with how often they shit themselves," Kostya added and both my brothers started laughing like we had all the fucking time in the world.
Maybe they did. But there were other things I needed to tend to. Like the spitfire I left sleeping in the hotel. The manager on duty sent me a message when she left, and I knew soon she would find out what I did, and I wanted to watch her reaction.
Most women would have been overwhelmed with gratitude for the luxury apartment, eager to please me for such generosity, but Viktoria wasn't like most women.
She was going to lose her mind, and I wanted to watch her pale cheeks turn as red as the golden-red highlights in her hair and her brilliant blue eyes fill with rage. When I left the tonic on the nightstand, she looked so peaceful. An angel with a halo of silky hair on the black silk sheets, sent to tempt me away from business.
Then she rolled over, the sheet slipping down her body, revealing the marks I'd left on her pale skin. My claim on her was undeniable; my blood ran hot thinking of all the ways I would mark her as mine again. What would she look like with my mark on her neck, claiming her for everyone to see?
"What do you think, Artem?" Kostya asked, pulling my mind back to the dank little room.
"What?"
"We are discussing the finer points of fashion for a situation like this. What do you think our guest of honor should have worn?" Kostya said while Pavel gave me a loaded look that I had no interest in interpreting.
"Black tie. Only the finest suit, one that has been perfectly tailored. It's really the only thing a man should wear when he meets his maker. Normally I would suggest reserving that for the funeral, but there is no need."
"What?" Kristoff said, barely able to lift his head or meet my eye through all the swelling. "But I didn't—I would never?—"
Kostya cut off his lies with a punch to his kidneys.
I lowered myself down to Kristoff's level. He needed to hear me and see my face to really understand the gravity of the situation he found himself in.
"You know what you did, Kristoff. We know what you did. Now you will answer our questions."
"If I do, Solovyov will kill me," he whispered, his body trembling.
Pavel and Kostya laughed behind me.
"Kristoff." I shook my head like a disappointed parent looking at their child's report card. "You're not leaving this room alive. Your fate was sealed the moment you betrayed us."
"Then why would I tell you anything?"
It was hard to see beyond the swelling and blood, but I thought I spotted a glimmer of defiance in his eyes. It was almost enough to make me respect him a little.
Almost.
"Just because I'm going to kill you doesn't mean I have to do it quickly," I said with a smile. "Your life will end. That is nonnegotiable. But you get to decide how much pain you feel before we let you go. And because I'm in a generous mood, I'll let you decide how or if your family ever finds your body."
"You—" His voice trembled with fear, and I knew I was getting somewhere.
"We can do right by you and your years of service to the family. We'll have your body delivered to a funeral home, and your family told some bullshit about you dying an honorable death, and the expenses for your funeral and burial will be covered. Or maybe no one ever finds your body?"
"What does it matter if I am buried in a cemetery or a field?" Kristoff, to his credit, tried to stand. Pavel put his hand on his shoulder, but it wasn't necessary. He could barely hold up his own weight.
"It doesn’t, I suppose," I admitted. "But you forget, Kristoff. We've worked together for a very long time. I know what you value. Where your body rests is of no consequence to you, but your reputation is."
"What—"
"It's not just that no one will find your body. I'll make damn sure that your family thinks you're still alive. That you just ran away like the fucking coward you are. For a time."
Kristoff bared his broken and missing teeth at me, more blood dribbling down his chin. It wasn't as intimidating as he had hoped.
"Then, when the mood strikes, I'll send your wife, your mother, and your children pieces of your corpse. They'll know what kind of man abandoned them when they needed him most."
"You wouldn't—" he snarled.
I let out a low laugh.
"Not only would I do it, I have done it. There's nothing stopping me from doing it again. So the choice is yours. Do you want your family to be taken care of, to gather around the table on your birthday to tell stories of the great man they lost? Or do you want them destitute, on their own, cursing your name for abandoning them? Then, when they have finally forgotten you, receiving the reminders I’ll send."
"You're no better than Solovyov," he spat. "At least he has honor."
Pavel and Kostya laughed behind me.
"Honor? You think that small-dicked coward has honor? If you die a traitor's death owing him money, do you think he won't still collect? He will turn your son into a soldier that is no more important than cannon fodder. Your wife and daughters will fill his brothels, and I don't even want to think about what he would do to your mother."
"You lie!" he yelled as he lunged forward.
I took one step back and then landed an uppercut under his ribs. He doubled over and fell back into his chair. My knuckles throbbed and I cherished the ache. It focused me, pulled me to the here and now, letting thoughts of Viktoria slide to the back of my mind.
Grabbing him by his greasy hair I tried to tilt his head back, but his toupee just came off his head and Kostya and Pavel laughed again. I tossed the hairpiece aside and grabbed him by the throat instead.
"What is Solovyov's next move?" I roared, letting my anger get the best of me.
Kostya and Pavel stopped laughing. I never yelled. It was a sign of weakness. It meant my grip on my control was loosening and that was not something I would allow.
"Fuck you," Kristoff spat.
I backhanded him, forcing his head to the side, before I grabbed him by the throat again.
My heart raced. There was so much irritation crawling under my skin, I wanted to lash out even more. "Tell me what Solovyov's plan is. Where is he going to attack next?"
"Fuck you."
He was getting tiresome.
I hit him again and again. This time avoiding his face. Any more swelling and he wouldn't be able to answer me at all.
When Pavel put his hand on my shoulder, I was covered in sweat and my heart was racing.
"What has you so on edge, brother?" he asked.
"Nothing," I snapped.
"Oh, I know what it is." Kostya smiled. "It's a woman."
"A woman?" Pavel repeated, raising his eyebrows. "Our brother, this brother, who has a series of one-night stands with women whose names he doesn't even bother to learn? The same brother who thinks the Vor v Zakone should never marry or have any emotional ties because they’re weaknesses? That brother?"
"The one and the same," Kostya said, and I could just hear his shit-eating grin.
"Unless you want to take this asshole's place in the chair, I suggest you shut up and get the information we need," I said, regaining some of my control.
"Who is it?" Pavel asked Kostya, ignoring me.
"That I don't know. I just know that he dealt with the Zaitsev dickheads the other day, and he spared some woman who was with them. And apparently he's playing fairy godmother and granting all her wishes."
"Dear god, will you two stop with the idle chatter and do your fucking jobs? It's not that hard. All you have to do is beat the motherfucker until he talks. There is the motherfucker, and he isn't talking. Fix it."
I was annoyed; I didn't get annoyed. Any other day I would be in this room either cold and focused on the task at hand, or maybe even joining my brothers with their jokes. Dull and tedious work like this was often more bearable because of their humor.
I collapsed into one of the metal chairs and pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to relieve some of the growing tension behind my eyes.
"What's with you?" Pavel said, narrowing his eyes at me. "You are acting odd."
"I told you, it's a woman," Kostya said, exaggerating the words into a childish singsong voice.
"No, that can't be it." Pavel shook his head. "It can't just be a woman. No woman has ever pulled his focus from work."
"Trust me, brother, the right woman makes all the difference." Kostya grinned. Both Pavel and I rolled our eyes. He had been impossible since Marina forgave him.
I didn't know how long this honeymoon phase was supposed to last, but he would be intolerable until it was over. Though one look at Gregor and his wife suggested it wasn't a phase, but a new fact of life we all had to contend with.
"Why did you leave the meeting early yesterday?" Pavel turned to me, ignoring Kostya's sappiness.
"Something came up," I answered, pinching the bridge of my nose harder before this tension turned into a full-blown migraine.
"What came up?" Pavel pressed.
"Oh, I have a couple ideas," Kostya laughed, and I threw my pocket square at him. That little piece of cloth wasn't going to do much to fix my appearance. As it was, my clothes were ruined, and I desperately needed a hot shower.
Even thinking about a shower brought up images of Viktoria in my mind. Sitting in the bottom of the tub, her clothes wet and her breasts visible through her white shirt, and those eyes looking up at me, pleading for something I burned to give her.
"Seriously," Pavel pressed again. "What was the reason?"
"Something came up. It's personal. Let it go."
"You don't have a personal life. You have business, family, and the family business. Since we are both family and part of the family business, there should be nothing you can't say to us."
"Fucking drop it," I said, getting to my feet.
"No." Pavel stood his ground.
"Umm, guys?" Kostya said.
"What?!" we both snapped.
Kostya simply pointed to Kristoff, who had managed to get off his chair and hobble toward the door.
"For fuck's sake."
This shit was out of control, and there was only one way to get it all back in line. I needed to remind these two jackasses who the fuck they were dealing with. I may have been their brother, but I was also their boss, and I was not a man to be fucking questioned.
It took me two steps to catch up to Kristoff, grab him by the back of his collar, and drag him back to his chair. I slammed his body down, then grabbed his neck and squeezed. His pulse was erratic against my fingers and more blood bubbled from his mouth and nose.
"This is your last chance for a clean death. Tell me what you know, or I am going to kill you slowly. I'll take you apart piece by piece, starting with your fingers, then your toes. We have an iron, and I'll use it to cauterize your wounds, so you won't bleed out. You will not die until I allow it. As far as you are concerned, at this moment I am your god. The breath in your lungs, the blood in your veins, the very life keeping that tiny little brain firing—all exist at my whim. The truth is the only thing that can set you free."
"Damn," Kostya muttered behind me.
"He's pissed," Pavel stage-whispered. "Do you remember what happened last time?"
"Remember? I still have nightmares."
Kristoff tried looking behind me at my brothers, but I tightened my grip on his throat.
"Don't look at them. Look at me. I'm the boss. They answer to me. Tell me what you know."
Kostya was the older brother and would have traditionally been the boss, but the bratva was all about merit. Kostya’s strengths were in the field—on the hunt. Not stuck in a room filled with smoking politicians and former generals hammering out an arms deal. That was my job.
Kristoff was shaking and tears spilled from his swollen eyes, but he said nothing.
"Kostya, get the iron ready."
"Okay, okay," Kristoff cried.
This grown man, a Russian enforcer, was fucking crying and I hadn't even started cutting yet. How the fuck had he made it so long in our ranks? When this was all over, I was going to take a long, hard look at the quality of men working for us.
"Start talking," Pavel said from behind me.
"Solovyov is trying to undermine Gregor. He says that the Ivanovs have gone soft, and they let their women run the empire from their backs."
"Keep going," I said between clenched teeth. This man was going to die a particularly gruesome death.
"He says that if all the Ivanov men can be controlled by their dicks, then they need to go, for the good of everyone. And their wives should be?—"
I hit him again across the jaw.
Viktoria was not my wife; he wasn’t talking about her, he was talking about my sister-in-law, and my cousin's wives. Still, I didn’t like what he was implying, and it was Viktoria's face in my mind when I hit him.
And just because I thought Gregor was losing his edge and was distracted did not mean that I would let someone speak like that about my family.
Gregor slipping was an issue, but a family issue that we would handle.
Solovyov wasn't going to use it to weasel his way into our business.
I hit Kristoff again, over and over. Blood sprayed across my face, but I couldn't stop. No, that was a lie. I could stop. I just didn't want to. There was too much frustration, too much pent-up aggression that needed an outlet.
My knuckles pounded into the hard bone of his cheek, his blood staining my skin, until the only thing that could be heard in the room was the wet sound of flesh hitting flesh.
"Well, I don't think we’ll be getting much of anything else out of him," Pavel said with a snort.
I stood and looked down at the face that now resembled ground meat more than a person.
"What are the chances he actually had information we didn't know about?" I asked.
"Slim," Pavel answered. "Solovyov is smart enough to keep his spies in the dark."
"Good. I want this one public. Tell everyone this is what happens when you cross an Ivanov Vor v Zakone . Show them what happens to disloyal dogs."